Dead Silence: The Hunt
by PassionatelyHiddlestoned
Summary: Sam and Dean make a stop through the small town of Raven's Fair, only to discover an age-old, horrifying legend of a strange ventriloquist dummy and its eccentric mother that has been plaguing the townspeople for decades.
1. Chapter 1

_Beware the stare of Mary Shaw_

_She had no children, only dolls_

_And if you see her in your dreams, _

_Make sure you never, ever scream._

* * *

She ran as fast as she could from the house, stumbling over her own feet as she fled. She could hear the echo of that evil laugh behind her, which propelled her feet to move that much faster. As she approached the entrance to the forest behind her house, she stopped suddenly.

There was fog rolling in, covering the grass, and she could barely see a thing. She bit her lip as she looked back to where the sounds were coming from, and decided to keep going.

She heard the humming coming closer, soft and distant like a nursery rhyme. Tears spilled over her cheeks as she cried out for help. "Somebody! Somebody PLEASE! Help me!" She ran on, looking over her shoulder as she listened to the singing begin to circle around her.

She tripped on something, and looked down through the fog to see a tombstone, cracked and dilapidated. To her horror, she found dozens of other gravestones, scattered throughout… But they looked tiny, almost like they were made for… dolls.

She tried to get up, but her foot snagged on the broken piece of stone. She pulled, but a voice right behind her startled her to the ground again.

"Karen," it sing-songed, "Where are you, Karen?" She whimpered as the voice seemed to be emanating from all around her at the same time. "L-leave me al-lone," she cried, hugging her knees to her chest. A giggle rang out through the night air, and she felt a force pull her back against the dirt, head facing the clouded sky. Suddenly, everything seemed to slow. The sound of the wind rustling through the trees, the rush of nearby traffic, all went quiet.

Karen looked around, shaking. "Hello Karen," the dummy spoke, popping out and grinning its painted smile as her last scream pierced through the dead silence.

* * *

The impala shot down the road, dipping in every pothole in the unfinished pavement and soaring over bumps.

"Dean, would you slow down?" Sam asked incredulously, "Your reckless driving is more dangerous then half the stuff we hunt!" Dean looked over, narrowing his eyes. "You're such a party pooper, you know that?" "Well, someone's gotta be!" Dean ruffled his brother's hair, much to Sam's annoyance, "Come on, Sammy! Live a little! Life is full of bumps and potholes."

To emphasize his point, a dip in the road caused them to bounce in their seat. Sam rolled his eyes over to him. "That's real deep, Dean." Dean just turned up the metal music a little louder to drown out his brother, and Sam shook his head as he went back to examining the map.

They pulled up at an off-road bar, sign gleaming in the evening above them. They pulled into the parking lot, and Dean shut off the music. "Well. I say we go in for a few drinks before we hit the hay, sound good to you?" Sam looked up at him. "You mean, so you can get hammered and pick up chicks while I search for cases in the area?" Dean nodded with a boyish grin. "Basically."

Sam sighed as he agreed, unbuckling his belt and getting out. The two walked toward the place, and noticed that there weren't many people. "Hey, where is everybody?" Dean joked as they walked through the double doors. The bartender just looked up solemnly, and went back to polishing a glass.

Dean raised an eyebrow, and went over to order. Sam sat down at an empty table, brushing aside a few crumbs and a dirty napkin. He took out a stack of newspapers, and began leafing through them.

Dean turned to the bartender. "Hi there. Nice place you got here. Not exactly the Copacabana, but, it'll do." He grinned at her, receiving a blank stare from her. "You know, Barry Manilow?" He began singing. "_At the copa, Copacabana, music and passion, we're always the fashion at the…_" he trailed off as the bartender looked about ready to throw him out, and looked down without dropping the smile. "I guess not."

He ordered two beers with a frown, and went to sit with Sam as there were no hot chicks to chat up at the moment.

"Got anything yet?" Dean asked, taking a sip, and Sam nodded. "Actually, yeah. Over the past couple weeks, there have been synchronized murders in town that each seem to follow a pattern. Just recently, there was a 17 year old girl named Karen Mulkahee. All the victim's tongues were seemingly ripped out, their jaw broken in three places." Dean winced, and furrowed his brow at the picture. "Jesus. But how does this have anything to do with us? This doesn't sound like our kind of gig, just some psycho with a knack for rearranging faces."

Sam held up a finger. "Wait, that's not all. Apparently, witnesses claim to find a _doll_ near the scene of the crime, and it's the same one every time." Dean blinked. "And you think it could be possessed, maybe the one killing these people?" Sam shrugged. "Seems likely. But I'll do some research into some local lore once we get back to the motel."

Dean sighed as he surveyed the empty bar, save one older man who looked about 50 or 60 hunched in a corner. "Well, there's not much point hanging 'round here. Let's just go check in."

Dean paid, and they went back to the Impala. They drove a few blocks down, and came to an old, beaten up looking motel. "Raven's Fair Motel," Sam read. "Wow. Original."

They walked in, and Dean rung a bell by the counter. A sour looking man came out, and gave the boys a once over. "Who're you?" he asked gruffly, and Dean looked over at Sam. "Uh, we're looking for a room." The man just stared at them coldly for a second. "Well, this town is just one big jumping party," Dean mumbled, and Sam swatted him. The man opened a dusty book, and opened an ancient looking computer. "Your credit card, please," he said, and Dean took out one of the many.

The man read the name on the card, and raised an eyebrow as he compared the picture to Dean. "Dick Champion?" he asked, and Sam had to hold back a laugh. "Yup, that's me, 'ol Dickie!" Dean smiled, trying to hold in a laugh as well. The man ran the card through, and gave it back. "You've got room number 21, Mr. Champion," he grumbled, and Sam thanked him.

"Want me to take in the welcome mat, or will you ring Igor to do that?" Dean asked sarcastically from down the hall, and Sam nudged him. They let themselves in with the key, and threw their jackets on the beds. The red light of the sign blinked on, off, on, off as it alerted non-existent tourists of its service.

Sam flopped down in the chair by the window, and opened his laptop. After a few minutes of searching, he looked up. "I didn't find anything on a killer doll, but I did find something on an old woman ventriloquist called 'Mary Shaw,' who made over one hundred dolls when she was alive." He flipped the screen around to show pictures of some of the dolls.

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Ew. Those things creep the hell out of me." "It says here that at one of her shows, a boy doubted the doll could actually talk, so a few months later, she kidnapped him and murdered him. The townspeople were angry, so they stormed her house and cut out her tongue, before burning her alive."

Dean shook his head. "This town just keeps getting better and better." "When she died, she wanted to become a doll herself, so they did plastic surgery on her to make her into a real one," Sam shuddered, and continued uneasily, "Legend has it, she goes after anyone or anyone descended from the people that killed her.

She vowed revenge, and now –get this- she _rips out_ people's tongues and breaks their jaw if they scream when they see her. Dean hummed. "So, Mary here's got a bubble to burst with anyone who is related to her murder. Sounds like a vengeful spirit to me. But how can the doll have anything to do with it?" "It's possible that Mary possesses the doll to kill her victims, or even just to frighten them into screaming.

There's also a poem that the townspeople made up: Beware the stare of Mary Shaw. She had no children, only dolls. And if you see her do not scream, or she'll rip your tongue out at the seam. And if you see her remember this, the only thing that can stop her is dead silence."

Dean frowned. "Dead silence?" Sam looked up. "I don't know. Maybe we can look further into it if we ask the townspeople what they know." Dean nodded. "Well Sammy, looks like we got a hunt. Let's get some sleep, and ask around in the morning."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean woke up with a groan as he felt a pillow hit his face, and opened his eyes groggily to find Sam, up and chipper, holding a large, gross-looking coffee in his hand.

"Get up, Dean. We need to get an early start on this Mary Shaw thing." Dean grunted to himself as he checked the time on the bedside clock, closing his eyes in disdain after seeing that it was 7:00 AM, even though it felt like 5.

"When did you get up, Miss Sunshine?" Dean grumbled as he rolled out of bed. Sam thought for a second as he packed up some stuff. "Uh… 5:30, I think?" Dean rolled his eyes. "Figures. Alright, got any idea if this place has any hot water?" Sam grimaced, taking a sip of coffee. "Nope. I had to get a cold one."

Dean groaned again, slamming his face into the pillow. "I hate this town."

A little while later, when they had gotten ready and checked where the witnesses lived, they made their way out to town in the Impala.

"So… 144 Old Birch Lane?" Dean asked, peering over the dashboard to check the street names. Sam took another look at the map. "Yeah. That's where the mortician and his wife live. Apparently, the mortician had a close run-in with Mary Shaw's ghost a few months ago. Or so he says."

Dean nodded, and pulled up to the driveway of what the address led them to. They got out, went up to the door of the big white house, and knocked.

They heard footsteps coming to the entryway, and a kindly old man answered. He had smile lines from years of good-nature, but he looked weary at present.

Sam cleared his throat, ready to pull out ID for Raven's Fair reporters, but the man nodded to them knowingly. "You must be the forensic analysts, come for the report?" Dean looked at Sam quickly, then back to the man. "Uh, y-yeah. Um, I'm Dr…. Riddleman, and this is Dr. Spoonson, with the Raven's Fair police."

The old man didn't seem like he needed any more convincing, so luckily, they didn't need IDs for that. As he turned and beckoned for them to follow, Sam looked at Dean with a frown that questioned the ridiculous names he had given them. Dean shrugged, and turned back to the man.

"I'm Henry Walker, it's a pleasure to meet you boys. The forensics department called me and asked if they could get a look at the body," Sam shot Dean a pointed look that warned they had to make this investigation hasty, since real analysts would be coming soon, "It's down these steps, here. It's just like what happened to the last poor man and his wife."

Sam looked at him, the reference ringing a bell from his reading. "Would that be Jamie and his wife, Lisa?" Henry looked up, and nodded solemnly. "Yes. I knew him, Jamie. Fine young man, just looking for a quiet life with his girl. Until…" he looked away, and waved his hand. "Well, anyway, come on down here, and I'll show her to you."

Dean glanced over at Sam, raising his eyebrow at the close mention of what they knew he saw before.

They made it down to the brightly lit cellar, dirt and grime creeping at the cracks in the wall. Henry chuckled. "This place has sure seen its days. My father was a mortician before me, my grandfather as well." Dean laughed. "What a great career choice."

Sam nudged him in disbelief at his rudeness, and Henry just smiled. "No, no. You're right. It isn't the most uplifting job to be doing, taking pictures of murder victims and preparing dead bodies for wakes. You should know, since you spend time around them too." The brothers looked at each other, adjusting their ties and nodding quickly. "Yeah, of course."

Henry went on. "But it pays pretty well considering the time of economic hardship in town, ever since tourism went down."

Sam raised his eyebrows in interest. "Oh yeah? And when was this? I mean, we were only just located to this force, so…" "Oh, quite some time ago. About a couple decades. I was a young man at the time, just taken over the business. Raven's Fair was booming, the height of tourism, with people coming from all over the country to see the Fair, everything new and modernized, for the time of course. But ever since the legend of…" he cleared his throat, "The legend came to light, and people started dying off at a disturbing rate, nobody wanted to visit. Jobs were scarce, most stores went out of business. I'm one of the only organizations still around from back then."

"This legend," Sam started, shaking his head, "Could you tell us a little about it?" Henry looked down. "We… well, people here…. Don't really like to talk about it very much…" Dean spoke up. "Please, Mr. Walker, we would really appreciate it." Henry shrugged. "Wouldn't you two know about it? I mean, everyone here knows about her."

"Who?" Henry looked around, cautious as if someone else could hear. "Mary Shaw. She wanders the empty rooms of the old theatre across town…" Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and looked back at Henry. "Yeah, we've heard that legend," Dean said, "But we don't really know what's been going on with the murders. You seem to know more about how it really happened, since we just, ya know… analyze stuff." Sam stared at Dean incredulously as Henry turned his back.

"Well, I've had so many come to me after the murders, and I've got pictures of all of them." He led them to a big book on the countertop, and opened it, flipping through page after page of bodies just like the one on the table. "Son of a bitch," Dean mumbled, and Henry turned to the two of them, narrowing his eyes.

"You know, you boys don't strike me as forensic analysts. I've met them before, believe me. They get in, do their job, and get out. You seem like you're more interested in the… supernatural part of this, than the science of it."

Sam swallowed, and Dean scratched his neck. "Uh…" Henry looked back and forth between them. "Who are you? Really?"

There was a knock at the door, and Sam and Dean took this time to leave. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Walker. We really do appreciate it," Sam said, shaking his hand, and they walked up the stairs. Henry just looked after them, raising his eyebrows a little, but since they had been rather nice, he didn't say anything else.

As they were leaving, the boys heard a low mumbling sound, coming from the backyard. "Dean, we shouldn't…" Sam tried, but Dean just looked around, and let himself into the backyard.

They crept along the wall of the house, keeping as quiet as they could, and stopped in their tracks as they saw an old woman, white hair long and mussed, stroking what looked like a dead crow, and mumbling reassurance to it. She was swinging leisurely on a white porch swing.

Sam cringed at the dead bird, and Dean wrinkled his nose, but they approached cautiously. "E-excuse me, ma'am?" Dean asked, reaching into his coat pocket for his fake badge. She looked up, with sunken eyes and the same weary features as Henry.

"Are you Henry's wife?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows earnestly. She looked over at him, and nodded slowly. "Ma'am, we're with the Raven's Fair news, and we were just wondering if you could answer a few questions for us," Dean asked.

The old woman looked down again to the crow, and began petting its head, whispering to it as if she had forgotten the boys were even there. "It'll be alright now… don't you worry… she won't come for us…" Dean frowned, and Sam swallowed before attempting to ask again.

"Who do you mean, Mrs. Walker?" he asked softly. She suddenly got up, grabbing Sam by the collar and looking frantically between the two brothers. "You… you have to get out before she finds you! She's coming… I can here her speak to me sometimes… Henry doesn't believe me… oh…." She sat back down, stroking her bird a little bit more quickly now and rocking back and forth on the swing.

Dean looked ready to ask another question, but Sam motioned for Dean to follow his exit. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Walker," he said politely, but she didn't seem to hear him. They went out the gate, and back to the Impala.

"Well, that was one nutty grandma," Dean said through raised eyebrows as he got into the driver's side of the car. Sam sighed. "Dean, she's probably seen some deeply scarring things. It can drive anyone to hysteria." Dean looked from Sam to the backyard and back. "We've seen some 'deeply scarring' stuff too, you and me," he said, mock-emotion kicking in as he leaned closer to his brother, "But dude - if I ever start petting a dead bird and talking to myself, please shoot me and put me out of my misery, right between the eyes, before I wander off and start thinking I'm Captain Kirk, okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed, turning to face forward. "You know, I felt sorry for her. And Henry too, I mean… it must be hard seeing someone you love like that." "Hey, it could be worse, man," Dean said, revving the engine, "At least they made it out alive."

Sam looked out the window. "So far, at least." Dean looked over, a stone cold glare gracing his features. "As long as we're on this job, nobody else is dying, not on my watch." "We can't save everyone, Dean." "No… but we can try."

The two drove off into town to investigate the old theatre Henry had mentioned.


End file.
